Chapter Eleven: "Haunted by Regret"

There is so much to consider when it comes to writing Cantonese lyrics. Crafting lines and refining sentences, striving for precise expression, and evoking genuine emotional resonance—all these are far from easy tasks. Take the simple phrase “I love you”: in Lin Xi’s hands, it becomes “In the fleeting moments of life, meeting you has exhausted all my luck.” Instantly, the sentiment is elevated beyond reach.

Examples like this abound. The great lyricists of Cantonese songs are invariably people of immense learning, rich life experience, and extraordinary talent. Figures such as James Wong, Lin Xi, Wyman Wong, and Lam Lok Lam have all penned lyrics for some of Hong Kong’s most iconic pop hits. The sheer difficulty of lyric writing means that, aside from these masters who have mastered Cantonese to perfection, few of the next generation have been able to follow in their footsteps. Even Lin Xi’s protégés… their work is often unbearable to look at.

“Regret That Lingers,” with lyrics by Wyman Wong, is a prime example. His lyrical technique in this song is brutal, almost bloodthirsty, shocking to the core. It’s as if an executioner is gently peeling away your scars, making you drink down heartbreak with a smile.

As the song unfolds, the wounds are torn ever deeper, until you are left utterly exposed, bleeding and raw.

But that still wasn’t enough.

The deranged lyricist Wyman Wong, the gold-medal arranger Wu Lok Sing, and the original singer Juno Mak decided that the male protagonist wasn’t miserable enough. Ten years after the release of “Regret That Lingers,” the three joined forces again, destroying what remained of the protagonist’s latter half of life—leaving him riddled with wounds, his suffering beyond words.

This man, unable to let go after a breakup, has been tormented repeatedly over ten years, each time forced into different positions, each time dying and being reborn in agony.

From “Regret That Lingers” to “Still on My Mind,” then to “Rashomon.”

The man endures relentless suffering, while his ex-girlfriend has long since moved on. He, meanwhile, lingers as a pitiful clown trapped in his own world, forever fantasizing about reconciliation, only for the harsh truth to reveal that all this torment is his own doing, a self-inflicted ordeal.

Ren Qian shook his head, catching a thread of heartache, and took a deep breath.

The lights went out.

From the corner of the stage, plaintive notes from a piano drifted out, conjuring a vast, ethereal atmosphere, laying down a foundation of loneliness and grief. A solitary figure stood in the shadows at the edge of the stage. Ren Qian slowly emerged from the darkness, his steps slow and heavy.

The previously excited audience was suddenly choked into silence, smiles freezing on faces, as if compelled by some unseen force to slump back into their seats…

“Are you… doing well lately?
Still into shoujo manga?
Haven’t seen you around much…
Do you have someone new?”

His voice was warm and gentle, the musical phrasing soft to the extreme. In certain trailing notes, he added a light exhalation, creating a vivid sense of imagery—as if a heartbroken man was pretending to be nonchalant, forcing a smile through his pain.

The performance was almost affected, hard to watch, but witnessing it brought a dull ache to the heart.

The lyrics were subtle: the protagonist spoke only to himself, not daring to bluntly ask his ex how she was, instead probing indirectly.

He began with the clichéd greeting ex-lovers use upon meeting. Immediately realizing it sounded too distant, he switched to asking if she still liked shoujo manga, hoping to rekindle her attention through shared memories. But she had already let go of that love and greeted his tentative approach with a smile and nothing more.

He could only retreat in silent disappointment.

In just two lines, their past intimacy and current estrangement were drawn with a few strokes—concise and stark. The contrast was sharp: once they whispered in each other’s ears, now they were strangers.

His heart, once anxious and uneasy at the unexpected encounter, flickered weakly under her cold indifference, then died out.

The piano’s mournful notes floated like restless spirits. As sorrow drifted through the air, the man finally asked what he most wanted to know.

“Do you have someone new?”

A question laced with fear—he trembled as he asked, afraid of the answer, and hurried to change the subject.

“I wish I could introduce you
To the girl I just met.
I want your opinion—
Is this an illness?”

He concocted a new girlfriend to test the waters, but inadvertently betrayed himself. Why would he seek her opinion if he really had someone new?

The line “I want your opinion—is this an illness?” struck a deep chord, touching the audience’s tears.

In the crowd, especially among the women, tears flowed freely. Boys with past heartbreaks bowed their heads in silence, the melody already etched in their hearts.

Ren Qian lowered his head, the stage lights stretching his shadow. His shoulders shook, and his singing spilled out with the melody.

“No matter how I try,
No matter what I do,
I just can’t love her the way I loved you!”

Why?

Why?

Was it because he loved too deeply and couldn’t pull himself free?

It was, perhaps, as the title suggested—regret that lingers. The love was once so beautiful that it became impossible to let go, impossible to forget.

“Maybe I’ve just been out of practice too long,
The feeling’s gone and can’t be reclaimed?
Trying harder to love just feels unnatural,
I don’t even remember how to be in love,
Maybe I loved you too much,
That’s why I can’t let go of the past…”

Wave after wave of haunting melody rolled on, pulling the atmosphere down to its lowest ebb. Some wept, girls leaned on each other, dabbing at their tears. Others, almost unconsciously, hummed along with Ren Qian.

“Could it be that loneliness lasted too long,
The rusty lock won’t open?
The key’s broken off, stuck in the old wound,
My heart is full of love for you,
No wonder I can’t love anyone else!”

Here, the heartbroken protagonist interrogated himself with bitter agony. The rusty lock, the broken key, the grieving man—together they formed a vivid tableau, as if you could witness the sorrow firsthand.

“Sometimes I’m still afraid
To walk past your old home.
If the story hasn’t ended,
Is it dangerous to lift the curtain again?
I wish I could introduce you
To the girl I just met.
I want your opinion—
Is this an illness?”

Ren Qian slowly moved to the front of the stage, singing with each step. The movement subtly affected his breath, and whether by accident or design, he sang with a catch in his voice. The effect was overwhelming—the girls in the front row sobbed uncontrollably, making Ren Qian’s scalp tingle.

“No matter how I try,
No matter what I do,
I just can’t make myself love her!
Maybe I’ve just been out of practice too long,
The feeling’s gone and can’t be reclaimed,
Trying harder to love just feels unnatural,
I don’t even remember how to be in love,
Maybe I loved you too much,
That’s why I can’t let go of the past?
Could it be that loneliness lasted too long,
The rusty lock won’t open,
The key’s broken off,
Stuck in the old wound where it always was,
My heart is full of love for you,
No wonder I can’t love anyone else…
Maybe I’ve just been out of practice too long,
The feeling’s gone and can’t be reclaimed,
Trying harder to love just feels unnatural,
Regret that lingers from old love,
Never once have I really recovered—
No matter how much it hurts, it should…”

After the song ended, a subtle ache lingered in the heart. It wasn’t the sharp pain of a sudden wound, but the dull, unrelenting ache of heartbreak that refuses to heal—like a sharp stone lodged inside an oyster, making every breath an agony.

At first, you might get by pretending you’ve moved on, but loneliness is the enemy. At any moment, memories might surface, bringing tears and even leaving you breathless.

And how many people have tried to salvage a lost love, only to grasp at shadows, failing to fix anything and only stabbing their battered hearts once more?

When love is gone, no matter how much you fantasize, no matter how much pain follows pain, it should be let go.

“This song really cuts to the heart,” sighed a senior student, taking a deep breath and tilting his head back to hold in the tears, though his eyes remained wet. Sometimes it’s not a lack of love, just a moment’s foolishness—a trivial disagreement that escalates because neither side is willing to yield, until an unbreakable bond shatters overnight.

The senior sighed, softly humming, “I want your opinion—is this an illness?”

Suddenly, a slender hand slipped around his arm. Tear-stained, he turned to see the one he’d longed for day and night—his former love.

“Man Ting…”

At this moment, he had to hold on no matter what.

“Man Ting, I still have hope, I still can’t let go. Can we go back to how we were? I promise…”

Before he could finish, they held each other tightly.

Emotion overwhelmed him as he glanced at Ren Qian through tears.

All he felt was gratitude! He must, absolutely must, find a chance to thank Ren Qian.

Throughout the venue, similar scenes played out.

“Regret That Lingers” made a crowd of university students weep for the protagonist’s sorrow, rekindled the flame for many estranged couples, and strengthened the resolve of those still together with its haunting melody.

Who shed the most tears in the hall? Thirty thousand listeners soaked their clothes. After hearing “Regret That Lingers,” they understood how rare love truly is, and how it must be cherished along the way…

As the song ended, the goddess-like host was left in tears, repeatedly choking up as she tried to summarize the moment. The dignitaries had already begun to leave, and Ren Qian dared not linger, hurriedly following them out.

He was afraid of being mobbed by his feverish female fans.

It wasn’t an unfounded fear. Even before he was famous, such incidents had happened; now, it might only get worse!

Sure enough, as soon as the event ended, a swarm of girls sought him out, blocking every exit and shouting excitedly, calling him “study god,” “Brother Qian,” “dear husband,” and more.

The scene was almost out of control.

……

By then, Ren Qian had already slipped away. Rounding a flowerbed, he found Wen Run waiting for him at their usual spot.

“That song was great—really moving.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Ren Qian was puzzled. He’d rushed over right after finishing the song, but she arrived even quicker.

Could it be…

He pictured a tomboy sprinting through the wind, skidding to a halt by the flowerbed, hastily smoothing her hair, and within seconds transforming back into a sweet, dimpled, rosy-cheeked, innocent girl.

The image was vivid indeed.

“Hmph. I didn’t like your second song. I left before it finished,” Wen Run pouted, giving a cold, slightly jealous laugh.

Which ex-girlfriend was that song for? And he even brought it to the New Year’s Gala. Why didn’t he sing “It’s Really Not Real” instead?

She shot Ren Qian a glare.

Girls are prone to overthinking, and from the tiniest detail they can build an entire melodramatic campus romance in their minds.

Ren Qian gave an awkward smile. Often, whether a song moves someone depends on the listener’s mood.

If the mood isn’t right, it’s hard to resonate. Like the nurse girl—when she listened to “Regret That Lingers,” all she felt was jealousy. She couldn’t appreciate the story behind the song, so to her, it probably sounded like utter trash.

“You didn’t finish it? That won’t do! I’ll write you a custom song… Let me think, what kind of song would make a girl happy?”

With that, Ren Qian pulled out a pen—one he’d tucked into his pocket earlier, when preparing “Regret That Lingers.” He had already used it to jot down the lyrics for the big screen.

He also pulled out a half-used sheet of paper, then bent over and started writing quickly.

Hearing the sound of the pen scratching, Wen Run blushed, turning her head away, but unable to resist sneaking a look.

What kind of song would it be? Would it be as beautiful as “It’s Really Not Real”? The nurse girl’s heart fluttered wildly.